


Love, Hate, Love

by orphan_account



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Blow Jobs, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pining, Tension, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: One of my oldest works I'm comfortable with sharing. It explores the dynamic between John, Hoffman, and Amanda throughout the movies, mainly focused on Hoffman, as he was my favorite character at the time. There is plenty of sexual content. Mind the tags.





	1. Chapter 1

It was a surprisingly quiet night tonight. No loud drunk teenagers to set up camp directly in front of his apartment, no husbands screaming at their wives or vice versa, not even the sound of traffic was particularly disturbing right now.

Mark would have found it kind of comforting if he wasn’t currently expecting a call from his new recent ‘employer’. Night had just fallen about an hour ago and any moment he was sure he would hear the telltale sound of his cellphone buzzing from where it was, sitting nearby on the coffee table. He was lying back on his couch, staring up at the ceiling and wishing nothing more than to drink himself into a coma, but he couldn’t do that tonight; he had to be alert, he had to be sober.

Over time the killing had stopped getting to him so much; he was able to sleep at night again, and he no longer obsessed over the lives he’d helped take. Even he’d noticed the change in himself, however; the way he covered up his guilt and anger by becoming so cold and unemotional that it had begun to interfere with whatever real social life he had. It was hard for him to feel much anymore, he’d grown so good at shutting off his emotions, just like John had told him to do during one of their first ‘lessons’.

He’d gotten _too_ good at it, maybe, since he’d had a few slip-ups where he simply couldn’t resist rigging a trap or two to go off without giving the subject in question a chance. Mark knew how John would feel if he found out, so he gave the subjects a little bit of time to struggle just to make it look like they weren’t set up to die. He didn’t do it for fun or because he liked watching people be mutilated, he did it because he believed those people honestly deserved it. So far he’d done it to three guys; all three of them convicted rapists.

It wasn’t that Mark didn’t respect John, or that he didn’t agree with what he was doing, just some opinions were too ingrained to be done away with by simply a few well-educated peptalks. Hoffman believed some people deserved to be wiped off the face of the Earth, and so, that’s exactly what he did. The fact that John had taught him to do it emotionlessly was something he was eternally grateful for. He was just sorry he had to hide it from the man; strange, he’d feel guiltier about that than the murders themselves.

Suddenly he heard a buzzing loud enough to startle him out of his reverie, a sound that reverberated throughout the coffee table and shattered the silence like a bomb going off. He jumped, looking over at the phone like it was a monster prepared to leap on him and tear him to shreds. After the initial shock went away, he sat up and snatched the offending object off the table. Flipping it open, he held it to his ear.

“Yeah?” he said, nothing in his voice betraying his recent little panic attack.

“Good evening, Mark,” Came the low, raspy voice on the other end of the line, “It’s time; you know what to do.”

And just like that the other end of the line went dead, not giving Hoffman a chance to respond. It wasn’t like he needed to anyway; he knew where their new hideout was located. He looked at his phone for a minute, seeing that the call had been made from an unknown number, probably some payphone. He flipped his cellphone shut and stood up, slipping the object into his pocket.

He wore all black tonight, as he did for these special occasions. Often he would park his car a block or two away from his destination just to not draw attention to their hideout and walk the rest of the way there. He _would_ just walk there from his apartment, but it was all the way across town and he didn’t exactly have the time or energy to do that while at the same time later going out to help kidnap some poor SOB to drag back to where their testing area was. Plus, he was really the only one with a vehicle big enough to stuff a body into.

They had recently finished work on their latest test, taking half the time they usually did now that a new apprentice had come along, one that had a lot more time on her hands. Every time Hoffman thought about her he felt his blood begin to boil. Amanda Young, the new girl. He hated her with a passion, not for any particular reason other than the fact he viewed her as competition, and he couldn’t handle his own jealousy very well. She spent more time with John than he ever had the chance to, and for reasons he couldn’t place, he hated that. In fact, to simply say he hated that was a massive understatement. Just the thought made him want to go insane, just finally snap and murder someone, murder _her_. He would never actually do that, of course, if only for John’s sake.

He chose a nearby convenience store to park his car in, a dark corner of it that already had a couple other questionably abandoned vehicles littered around it. Getting out of the car, he slammed the door shut before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading down toward the sidewalk. The night air was crisp and cool, and even out here all was calm. There was not a vehicle on the road, or another person to be seen during his entire two block journey to that familiar abandoned building.

Before he even reached the entrance of the hideout, he noticed that none other than Amanda was waiting for him outside. He didn’t even hesitate, though he did feel his body temperature go up a couple degrees. The moment she spotted him, she advanced toward him. He noticed she was wearing a very formfitting black hoodie; he could see every attractive little curve of her body, but even so he didn’t find it incredibly hard not to admire her.

“Took you long enough, I was waiting out here for hours,” She said, and continued before he could have a chance to reply, “John wants us to go get the guy and bring him to the testing area right now, and come back here afterward.”

Mark tried not to grit his teeth too hard.

“Alright,” He said simply, “I hope you don’t mind walking.”

He turned around and started walking the exact same way he came, expecting her to follow.

“You did bring your car, right?” she asked as she hurried to catch up with him.

“Of course I did,” He said, not bothering to keep the spite out of his voice, “It’s a couple blocks away from here.”

Amanda frowned. His hatred for her was clear from day one, and she felt as if it was severely undeserved. Earlier that night when John had told her that she was supposed to be working with Hoffman for the first time, she couldn’t help but bring up the subject with him. She told him her concerns on the matter, and he had seemed almost surprised to hear it. His advice was that she should simply address it, to not be meek and to most certainly not return the feelings. They were all supposed to be partners in this, not enemies, and Mark probably had to be reminded of that.

She sped up to catch up with him, since he was making no secret to deliberately walk faster than her much shorter stature could carry her.

“Will you slow down?” she said, annoyed.

“It’s not my fault if you can’t keep up.”

That was the last straw. Amanda got in front of Hoffman, forcing him to stop lest he run right into her. He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. What the hell was she playing at?

“Listen asshole,” She began, not the best beginning but it’d do, “We’re partners now whether you like it or not so you better start treating me with some respect, or at least stop acting like a child.”

Mark shouldn’t have been surprised by this outburst, judging by what he’d grasped of her personality so far. He stared down at her unflinchingly, feeling a little twinge of something in the back of his mind as he did so, something far, far different than anger or annoyance.

“I’ll start treating you with respect once you prove to me that you’re not a complete fuckin’ waste of John’s time,” He growled back, stepping around her to continue on his way.

Amanda stood there for a minute, feeling her anger rise. She quickly moved to catch up with him once more.

“Is that what this is all about, then?” she called after him, “You have some daddy issues you want to tell me about, Mark?”

For some reason, that remark pissed Hoffman off worse than what she’d said previously. Nevertheless, he didn’t stop to fully acknowledge her.

“You’d better hurry up or I’m going to leave you behind,” He told her, refusing to give her the pleasure of getting a rise out of him.

Amanda was seething, but at the moment she was too busy half-running half-walking to keep up with the bastard to scream at him properly. She suddenly remembered what John had told her, how she shouldn’t return the feelings of animosity, and she silently cursed herself for doing that in the first place. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

Surprisingly enough, neither of them said a word by the time they made it to his car, and the silence was only broken when she told him the directions to get to their current destination. The tension between them was palpable, sitting so close together in absolute silence as Hoffman drove and Amanda was left with nothing to do but stare out the window.

She couldn’t say it, but she was unbelievably nervous. This was going to be her first catch; she was actually going to assist in a kidnapping. For a moment she wished she was doing this with John instead, at least she’d be able to talk to him. She had her hands closed into tight fists, and she was visibly tense.

Meanwhile Mark was having similar thoughts. He glanced over at the woman beside him, seeing how she had her gaze permanently facing away from him, and he noticed how she was fidgeting. He smirked slightly, but the expression quickly faded.

“How are you feeling, Amanda?” he asked, before turning his attention back to the road.

Amanda was a little surprised that she didn’t detect any hatred in that question, but even so she felt extremely suspicious. Could he tell she was scared out of her mind right now? She was suddenly afraid that Hoffman could read body language as well as John could, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling strangely exposed.

“Great,” She responded simply, looking away.

There was another long silence as Mark focused on where they were, seeing that they were on the street she mentioned. Now that they were so close, he immediately shifted into a more businesslike demeanor, any contempt he held toward his partner completely vanishing on the outside.

“Tell me when you see it,” He told her.

She remained quiet until the little white house on the corner came into view.

“That one,” She said, looking toward it.

“Looks like he’s home,” Mark pointed out as he noticed the lights were on, and there was a car parked in the driveway, “Any instructions?”

“Nope…”

Mark was quiet for a minute as he rounded the corner, thinking. They were in a suburban area; any disturbance would be heard immediately and reported. Anyone could see his car and know who he was, so breaking in was out of the question. They could wait and hope their target left somewhere, but that was a gamble at best; it could take hours.

He switched off the headlights and turned into the alleyway behind the house, rethinking the breaking-in idea. It would be incredibly risky, especially since he had a newbie in his midst; that was almost enough for him to banish the thought once more.

Amanda looked over at him, wondering about his silence.

“Are we going to-”

“Is there anyone else living with him?” he interrupted.

“No, except for two cats,” She responded, before finally saying what she wanted to, “We’re not going to just break in are we?”

“Yeah, we are,” Mark said after a brief hesitation, before he looked at her, “Follow my lead, and don’t fuck this up.”

They would soon find out that their prey’s house had very little security; in fact, he didn’t even lock the back door. They were able to slip right in. They found him sleeping on the couch with every light in the house on and a good deal of empty beer cans littered around him, complete with an empty pint of whisky lying on the coffee table. Both Hoffman and Amanda stood there for a moment, and then they looked at each other, though since they were both wearing masks at this point the exchange was pretty useless.

Even if he was passed out drunk, however, the guy still had the potential to be dangerous. Mark slowly advanced toward him, and given his limited sight, he didn’t see that beer can before he stepped on it and it collapsed with a crunch that made both him and Amanda cringe. Their target didn’t even twitch.

Resuming his advance, Mark managed to avoid all other obstacles before he got close enough to stick the guy in the neck with the large syringe he’d been holding. Even then the guy didn’t wake up, and both he and Amanda had a good time dragging him out to the car. Amanda dropped him once while going down the small stairway that led to the door outside, but that was pretty much the only slip-up they had.

Once back in the car, they finally removed their masks and tossed them in the back seat. Amanda was so happy to be rid of that mask, her whole face felt sweaty and uncomfortable after wearing it for that long. She ran her hand over her forehead, feeling the moisture there. Kidnapping a drunk guy that had done half their work for them already wasn’t the most thrilling thing in the world, so her heart wasn’t exactly racing. She felt like she’d gotten all worked up over nothing.

Mark started up the engine, and they began their journey toward the testing area.

“So what’s this guy in for again?” he asked.

“You helped design the traps and you don’t even know?” she asked with a little laugh.

He just gave her an indiscernible look.

“He’s tried to kill himself three times,” She finally told him, “And it should be pretty obvious that he’s on a mission to have alcohol do the job for him.”

“Good reasons,” Mark stated.

“Yeah, apparently he was convicted for raping a ten-year-old about five years ago and he’s never gotten over it,” Amanda went on to say as she turned her gaze back out the window.

There was a short silence, “Were the accusations true?” he asked conversationally.

“As far as I know, yes,” She answered, before looking over at him, “Why?”

“Just curious,” He replied, “I could imagine why a false accusation could lead someone to suicide… But I guess that’s not the case here.”

They both remained silent the remainder of the ride.

The abandoned building they finally came to was relatively small in comparison to what Mark usually worked with, but the basement area was surprisingly expansive. Unfortunately for Amanda, they had to carry their captive down three flights of stairs. Mark didn’t particularly care about her wellbeing, but he was the one who had the guy under the arms and went down the stairs first, going backwards, just to take extra measures against her slipping and killing herself.

When they made it to the deepest part of the basement, they carefully set the man down on the cold concrete floor before Mark went over to unlock the trap and open it up. After that, he wordlessly went over to grab the man and force him into it himself, locking his arms and legs in place. He then locked a metal collar around the man’s neck, using a large padlock that had been there waiting. It was here that he hesitated, looking over at Amanda.

“Could you activate the cameras?” he asked, casually reaching into his pocket for something.

She nodded, before turning her back to do just that. While she wasn’t watching, Mark pulled a little piece of paper from his pocket, before forcing it into the keyhole of that one padlock, successfully jamming it so that no amount of force would get the key to work on it. He walked around to the back to double check everything, before going over to look at the timer.

Amanda appeared to be finished with what she was doing as well, for she walked over to stand nearby, and look at him expectantly.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“No, let’s go.”

They exited out the back the same way they’d come, leaving their subject to his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we have some bondage and whipping with a small side of sexual tension. Enjoy.

Hoffman spent a good portion of the week ‘investigating’ the latest Jigsaw murder, the very one he’d helped orchestrate. It was a typical few days, hiding any evidence that was found, including the piece of paper that he’d put into the lock himself. He had one day to rest, and that was spent entirely drinking himself into a stupor alone at a bar. Now he was on his way to Jigsaw’s hideout, clad in all black including his favorite leather gloves.

He parked his car in a different area this time, before walking the rest of the way there as usual. When he got there, he felt distinctly overjoyed when he saw John was waiting for him near the entrance and not Amanda this time.

The other man was wearing a black hoodie with the hood up, and he was leaning against the side of the building, his head angled down so that his face was shadowed. As if he sensed Mark’s approach, he looked up just as he drew near.

“Hello John,” Mark said when he got close enough, “What do you have for me tonight?”

As usual, John remained pretty impassive as he looked up at the other man to acknowledge his question.

“Come inside and I’ll show you,” He answered calmly.

Taking the hint, Mark was the first to head toward the door. He placed his hand on the door handle, and that’s when he was suddenly grabbed, and slammed face-first against the hard, cold metal. His arm was grabbed and wrenched behind his back as he was held there, too shocked to even move as he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck as a needle was jammed into his jugular. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, just before the needle was pulled out and he was suddenly released.

Immediately he spun around, his back pressed against the door and his hand against the side of his neck where it had been pierced by that long, thick needle. He looked at John, having to see with his own eyes that he was truly who had done this to him in order to believe it. Their gazes met, and Mark felt his heart break when he saw that cold, stoic glare that he was so accustomed to seeing staring right back at him.

As Mark fell to his knees, John saw the sad look of betrayal in the man’s deep blue eyes, and he had to look away. Barely a second later, and Hoffman fell unconscious onto the cold cement below. Only then did John allow himself to look back at the man, and the sharp pang of guilt he felt was easily brushed aside, as it usually was when he reminded himself that what was about to happen tonight was cruel, but necessary.

Meanwhile, Amanda had been waiting inside and she’d heard the loud ‘bang’ against the metal door. Her attention immediately left the blueprint she was studying, and she walked away from the table to approach the door. She stood nearby, listening for any further struggles, but there were none. She opened the door, and was greeted by the sight of John standing over a very passed-out Hoffman. Her eyes widened as she looked over the two of them.

“Oh,” She said simply.

“Help me bring him to the room,” John commanded of her immediately.

She nodded, grabbing the unconscious Mark by the legs while John got him under the arms. Together they carried him to a room at the back of their little workshop, before gently setting him on the floor.

Immediately Amanda had noticed the sudden graveness in John’s attitude, and she wondered if he was this way with all his test subjects. She remembered how he’d acted when they’d discussed putting Mark through another test, and it had been the same way, definitely different than when they discussed anyone else. Not to mention he’d insisted upon doing this personally, by himself, something he never did as far as she’d heard. The extent of her involvement was dragging Hoffman back here and helping to strap him in, after that, he told her she could leave if she wanted. This test wouldn’t be recorded, either. If anything she expected this to be more of an enhanced lecture than a test, but she wasn’t about to say anything to John. Personally she couldn’t imagine why the man would care about Hoffman so much; he was a complete asshole that deserved to be royally tested and threatened with death as far as she was concerned.

They both dragged him underneath the mechanical pulley system that was attached to the ceiling, and Amanda was a little confused when she saw John begin unzipping the coat Mark was wearing. He pulled it open in a way that seemed a little bit too suggestive for her tastes.

“What are you doing?” she asked as if genuinely curious.

“He has to be completely topless for this; care to help?” he looked up at her.

“I’ll pass,” She said, for some reason feeling a little flustered.

She watched as John pulled the jacket off of Mark like the hide off of a deer, before doing the same with his shirt; all of it so smooth and professional she wondered how many times he’d done similar things before. She couldn’t help but stare, having thought she’d never see, or ever _want_ to see, Mark topless, but he didn’t look half bad for a guy well into his forties.

“You may go now, Amanda,” John suddenly spoke up.

She looked up at him like a kid that was just caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Are you sure?” she asked, still flustered.

“Yes, I can take it from here.”

Without further adieu, she got up and left the room, shutting the door behind herself. With how rapidly awkward things had become in there, she was happy to be out.

Even before she was gone, John got to work. There were two long chains hanging from the pulley system, each with leather manacles at their ends, and it was these that he fastened around both Mark’s wrists, making sure each was secure before moving on.

There was a third chain, this one that led down into a hole in the floor, and at its end was a heavy metal collar which John locked securely around Mark’s neck. It wasn’t visible, but this chain was wrapped around a second smaller mechanical pulley beneath the floorboards; this could be used to shorten the chain, and thus be used to further manipulate which position Mark was to be in at any given time.

John took out a small remote control from his pocket, and pressed a button that immediately activated the pulley on the ceiling. Mark was slowly lifted off the floor by his arms, and only when he was practically standing did John switch it off. At this point the chain attached to the collar around Hoffman’s neck was quite slack, but that would later change. Last but not least, John went over to strap Mark’s feet down using two leather manacles that were attached to the floor by very short, sturdy chains.

Standing up, John pulled up his sleeve slightly to glance at his watch, seeing that he still had about five minutes left before the drugs in Mark’s system finally began to wear off, give or take a minute or two. He then looked back up at the unconscious man, and he didn’t look away. His eyes wandered over his features, and he caught himself running his gaze over his body as well. He’d never been able to see this much of his apprentice’s body before, since the man always seemed to keep himself covered up as much as possible every time they saw each other.

Without really thinking, he reached up and lightly pressed his fingers under the unconscious man’s jaw, tilting his head up so that he could look at him better. He tilted Mark’s head to the side slightly, and continued looking at him like a doctor examining a patient. It was sheer curiosity, he supposed, and the unconscious yet very prevalent urge to take advantage of a situation that would never present itself again. John knew for a fact that Mark would never let himself be so vulnerable and exposed in front of his mentor willingly, not like this.

Gently, John slid his hand up to caress the side of Mark’s face, and he kept his gaze riveted as he unthinkingly ran his thumb over the other man’s bottom lip, disappointed when he remembered he was wearing gloves and was thus unable to feel the softness of it.

It was about then that he caught himself, and pulled his hand away. He chose not to think too hard about what he’d just done, and instead went to grab the chair that was near the back of the room to pull it into a position about five feet in front of Mark. It was here that he sat down to wait.

Consciousness came rapidly with pain. Hoffman’s shoulders and surrounding muscle tissue were on fire from how long he’d been hanging there with nothing but his arms to support his entire body weight. He hissed as the agony momentarily increased before it lessened as he shifted to support his weight on his legs instead. He looked up, finding stray hair in his face, but the annoyance was quickly forgotten when he noticed who was in the room with him.

Realization hit him like a ton of bricks at that moment. He remembered how he’d gotten here and he knew why. He immediately fought against all instincts to begin thrashing, knowing full well how John’s traps usually worked and this certainly looked like a trap to him. He looked down at the chain connected to the collar around his neck, seeing how it disappeared into a hole in the floor.

Just like the first time he’d found himself in a predicament like this, he said nothing even as he lifted his head again to look up at John, silently awaiting an explanation.

As if sensing he was ready, John started to speak.

“Hello again, Mark…” He began slowly, “You’re here because last week I tested you and you failed. That man wasn’t actually a sexual offender, and the cameras were already recording when you and Amanda arrived at the testing area.”

Hoffman continued staring up at John, and he felt his heart sink at these words. His eyes began to glisten with regret. His secret had been found out and he couldn’t have been sorrier, but he knew John, and John didn’t take ‘sorry’ for an answer.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked in a low voice, struggling to remain calm.

“What this indicates to me is that there’s an error in your thinking, one that I haven’t quite gotten through to yet,” John said, ignoring the question, “I suspect it’s the same error that led you to the creation of your first trap, and the murder of Seth Baxter.”

There was a short silence in which John stared up at Mark expectantly.

Hoffman could feel his legs trembling, so much he feared it was visible. John’s calm and collected demeanor had never been so terrifying to him; it was as if the man could just sit there and watch him be brutally slaughtered and not even bat an eye afterward, something that Mark was slowly allowing himself to realize was a very real possibility.

“Am I correct in thinking this?” John finally prompted.

“Just tell me what you want me to do,” Mark finally spoke up, his voice cracking.

John stood up, “I want you to listen to me!” He shouted, “And I want you to answer my questions.”

The sudden show of emotion sparked Hoffman’s own frustrations, and he replied with equal ferocity.

“Yes, alright?” he cried, “I did it because the world doesn’t need more people like that in it, and if I feel like I can make a difference, I will.”

John moved a bit closer, “You _are_ making a difference, Mark, by giving them a chance,” He said, “By surviving something like what we put them through, those people will be changed. How many times am I going to have to explain this to you?”

“Some people never change,” Mark replied while keeping his gaze locked with John’s.

“The better people do,” John said as he slowly circled around Mark, “And the people that survive when given a fair chance are the better people.”

He stopped when he was standing directly behind the bound man, “Do you understand?”

“Does dumb luck factor into your equation?” Mark growled, “Some people don’t deserve a-”

He was instantly silenced when he suddenly felt a hand in his hair, the leather sticking to the strands and making it twice as painful when John suddenly yanked his head backward, causing the chain connected to his collar to rattle. His breath caught in his throat from the shock of it, and he squeezed his eyes shut in reflex, feeling tears begin to well up.

 _“’Some people don’t deserve a chance’_ , is that what you were about to say, Mark?” John said in a low, dangerous voice.

It was rare that John lost his temper, but this was simply too much for him to take. He’d been working alongside this man for too long now, teaching him and helping him; he thought a deep mutual understanding had been forged from that time together, he thought that Hoffman had actually started to look up to him a little bit. It crushed him to know that he’d been mistaken.

“How many times am I going to have to repeat myself? _Everyone deserves a chance,”_ He said slowly so that the man wouldn’t miss a word.

With his free hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little switchblade, squeezing it so that the short blade sprang free.

“You’ve murdered five people, Mark,” He continued, “By your logic that means you deserve death just as much as those convicts.”

He brought the blade up and pressed it under Hoffman’s chin, right above his collar so that the knife bit into his flesh when he pressed down.

“Do you think you deserve a chance?” John asked, briefly remembering their first meeting when he’d asked the same question.

Mark’s eyes widened when he realized there was a knife pressed against his throat, and he struggled not to move, though he couldn’t stop his legs from trembling. He understood what John meant, and most of all, he understood that he’d managed to piss the man off royally.

“I don’t know,” Hoffman replied, for the first time losing his composure and showing fear.

He knew that John didn’t do this; he wasn’t a murderer, he never actually killed anyone, but even reassuring himself of that fact did little to soothe him.

“Do you understand yet?” John asked.

“Yes, I understand,” Hoffman said, and it came out sounding pretty sincere, considering.

Even so, John wasn’t satisfied. He’d gone through too much trouble to risk letting Mark go so easily; not to mention the fact that he’d been deeply hurt tonight, learning just how much Mark actually valued his word. He lowered his knife, retracting the blade before pocketing it. He wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking this was actually a test and that he honestly thought Mark dying was an option here anyway; this was simply punishment, and it was time for the real punishment to begin.

“I don’t think I believe you,” He said ominously.

He finally let go of Hoffman’s hair in favor of using both his hands to feel around the front of the other man’s body until his gloved fingers sought out the metal of his belt buckle. John had to press and feel harder than usual in order to make out the dynamics of it before he finally unhooked it and began pulling it open.

Mark didn’t know what to think right about then. His mind began reeling as entirely new and depraved concepts of what was actually going on here suddenly began flashing through his head. What disturbed him most, however, was how the thoughts didn’t disgust him, though they terrified him on an entirely new level. The pressure of John’s hands so close to his crotch only reinforced his fears.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding uncharacteristically panicked.

John didn’t answer, as he finished what he was doing and then proceeded to roughly yank the belt from Mark’s pants. He took a couple steps back, doubling the belt in on itself before he gripped it tightly, listening to the leather squeak against his gloves. He ran his eyes over the bound man’s flawless back, taking a minute to really capture the sight in his mind, because pretty soon it wasn’t going to be so flawless.

“John, what are you doing?” Mark spoke up again, attempting and failing at looking over his shoulder to see.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and hear it in his head, so loud he could hardly register anything else. That’s when an impossibly loud _‘crack’_ split the air, and Mark didn’t even fully register the stinging agony spreading down the small of his back before another sounded, followed by two more. It wasn’t until the last one that he finally jerked hard, making his chains rattle, feeling his skin afire with pain. A shout left him when he felt another hit, followed by another, and it finally occurred to him that John was striking him, with his own belt, no less. He almost couldn’t believe it was happening, and yet, here he was.

For someone who was usually a pacifist, this sudden show of brutality came surprisingly easy for John. All his pain and frustration was poured into each strike he landed upon Mark’s back, and he found himself enjoying the way the younger man writhed, and the way he cried out when the pain became too much for him to handle. John only stopped when he began to feel tired, having hit the other man more times than he could count before then.

Mark didn’t relax, fully expecting the assault to continue for he couldn’t look to see otherwise. He was trembling violently, panting raggedly, his every muscle taut. He never imagined he’d be at the receiving end of John’s wrath, not like this, _especially_ not like this. Everywhere he’d been hit felt hot, uncomfortably hot compared to the cold air of this room.

John didn’t let himself come to realize exactly what he was doing, or what he’d already done, as he flipped the belt over in his hands so that the buckle was now at the business end.

“I don’t care what you do on your free time, Mark, but as long as you’re on my side, doing my work, you’re going to play by my rules, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mark breathed.

John didn’t hesitate for even a millisecond longer before he brought the belt down upon Mark’s back, not allowing himself to think, not allowing his better judgment to take control. The scream that tore from Mark’s throat right then was probably most sincere one he’d ever let loose, and John felt a very strong wave of sympathy pain come over him when he heard it. It was enough to make him wince slightly, but he didn’t allow himself to hesitate for very much longer than that.

Hoffman didn’t know getting hit with any end of a belt could ever hurt this bad. It was utter, mind-consuming agony, to the point where it made him feel nauseated. A second, third, fourth strike was landed, and he writhed so hard in his bindings he was starting to hurt himself. He was hyperventilating now, seeing stars and finding it hard to stay on his feet with how bad he was shaking.

“Stop!” he gasped, unable to get enough air to shout, “Please, John!”

Another strike had him arching, what little breath he had knocked from him as the pain wracked his already overloaded body.

John saw the blood, dark red rivulets trickling down Mark’s back to mix with the sweat that had long since formed on his skin in a glistening sheen. He only stopped because he’d grown tired again, and as he stood there he saw how Mark remained so tense, how his whole body was trembling now; visibly shaking from what he’d been through. John reached into his pocket to take out the remote control.

Hoffman didn’t have the energy to show his surprise when he heard the machine above his head start up, along with the one below the floorboards that he couldn’t see. The chain on his collar grew tighter while the chains on his cuffs became looser, and he didn’t have the energy to resist as he was pulled down. He fell heavily to his knees, the only thing keeping his body from dropping completely to the floor were the leather manacles tight around his wrists and the chains still holding them up. He was sure that if he didn’t have gloves on, his hands would be visibly purple by now because he certainly couldn’t feel them anymore. What he could feel, though, was the hot fluid dripping down his back, and the throbbing pain that lingered in a few places he’d been struck. He hung his head in defeat, finally finding it possible to breathe, and he heard the machines shut off shortly after that.

“Do you want a second chance, Mark?” he heard John’s voice above him.

Hoffman couldn’t find it in himself to move, dizzy and exhausted, “Yes… John… I’m sorry…”

As he stared down at the broken man before him, John finally felt those walls around his emotions come crashing down. He saw the marks on Hoffman’s back, the blood as it continued to trickle down, but this time when he saw the wounds he could hardly believe he’d been the one to inflict them. He had to stop staring for he was starting to feel sick, sick with himself.

He dropped the belt before circling back around to kneel before Mark, and the man didn’t look up to acknowledge him at first. His dark hair hung before his face partially shielding his eyes, some strands wet with sweat, and tears shed purely of pain. John lifted his hand to gently tilt Mark’s head up.

“Look at me,” He commanded.

Mark opened his eyes without a moment’s hesitation, and he met John’s gaze. John could see everything in Hoffman’s eyes, he always could. As much as Mark tried to remain impassive and cold, the truth showed through the moment their gazes met. Right now all he could really see was pain, but he was silently glad there was no resentment.

“I’ll give you your second chance,” John said quietly, “If you can promise me you will never lie to me again.”

Mark’s eyes never left John’s, “I promise…”

“You promise what?”

“I promise I won’t lie to you again,” Hoffman said.

John took a moment to search the other man’s eyes before he was satisfied there wasn’t a doubt in Mark’s mind about his own words. He stared for a bit longer than that, though, his gaze falling to and lingering on the other man’s lips. Slowly he moved his hand from under Mark’s chin to the side of his face, touching him in a way that was not unlike what he’d done when the man was still unconscious. He turned his attention back to Hoffman’s eyes and he saw confusion mixed with something else he couldn’t quite place.

All Mark could think was how strange the affectionate touch felt after getting such a severe beating from the very same person doing the touching. The black leather was warm against his face, and he found it difficult to think, difficult to completely comprehend what was happening as John suddenly leaned in, but he stopped half way. Mark realized John was about to kiss him, and he simultaneously realized just how badly he wanted that to happen, except now it looked like the other man was rethinking his decision. Hoffman couldn’t do much except lean forward ever so slightly, and his restraints didn’t give him enough freedom for it to be even that noticeable.

John stopped what he was doing then, pulling back completely.

“Good,” He said simply, before getting up to unbuckle the manacles holding Mark’s arms in place.

The moment he was freed, Hoffman had to resist the urge to just fall down on the ground and lie there for the rest of the night. He felt flustered on top of everything else now, and in his confused mind he almost wondered if he’d imagined what had just almost happened between him and John.

He sat back and began rubbing his wrists to get feeling back into his hands, ignoring the pain and numbness in his arms from being strung up for so long. He lifted his head when John helped him unhook the collar, after which it was tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. He hadn’t realized how heavy it was until it was off, and he lightly rubbed his neck with one hand. After that, he sat back even further so that he could reach the straps still tight around his ankles, and it took him a good minute or two to get them both loose.

John held out a hand to help him up, and Mark took it without hesitation. He tried not to force John to lift all his weight, but it was difficult when his legs felt like they’d rather give out than help. He apologized as he finally got his footing, John holding on to his shoulder to make sure he didn’t fall. They looked at each other, Mark hoping to see any indication of the affection John had showed him earlier, but there was none. He silently berated himself for even hoping for it in the first place, a little bit of his own common sense returning finally. He looked away, and noticed his jacket and shirt lying on the floor near the wall, and his belt that was also on the floor.

“Come out when you’re ready; I’ll help you clean up,” John said, before he turned to leave.

Mark watched him go with an unreadable expression, before he went to grab his clothes. He tried not to think as he picked up his belt and began working it through the loops of his pants again. He knew when he woke up the next morning everything would be back to normal, none of these feelings would be left and this moment in time would become nothing more than a memory, because that’s how it always was. Those marks on his back, however, would probably be a little bit longer lasting.

Meanwhile, Amanda had been hanging out outside in the main room pretty much the entire time the ‘test’ had been going on, and when John finally came out she looked at him like a deer in the headlights. When she didn’t see Mark immediately following after him, she began to wonder. Judging by those screams that she’d heard, she wouldn’t be surprised if Mark wasn’t dead or at least partially so.

John looked a little surprised to see her, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He pulled the gloves he’d been wearing off and set them on a nearby table, before he headed over to the sink near the back of the room.

“How long were you waiting out here, Amanda?” he asked conversationally as he grabbed the single, white washrag hanging above the sink.

“I never left,” She replied, hesitating a moment before she finally asked, “How did it go?”

“It went well,” John replied vaguely as he turned on the faucet and held the rag under the water for a moment, before he turned the water off once more.

“You should go,” He told her suddenly, “Until I come get you. We’re not quite finished yet.”

Amanda looked a little crestfallen, but she didn’t complain, she just did as she was told and headed back to the room she’d claimed as her own.

It wasn’t that John felt any particular need to be alone with Mark, it was just that he knew the man most certainly didn’t want to be seen by anyone, let alone Amanda, in the condition he was currently in. Not to mention, she knew how the trap worked, and she’d know that John had to have inflicted those wounds that now adorned Mark’s back manually; he didn’t want to know how differently she’d view him if she saw that.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and shutting echoed throughout the building, followed by footsteps. Mark appeared, fully clothed, and his movements appeared slightly labored. He saw John, and the man had to stop him before he simply walked past without a word.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” John asked, already figuring the man wasn’t about to accept any help.

“Yeah,” Mark responded, “I’ll see you next week, John.”

With that he walked away, and exited the building without another word.

When Hoffman arrived at home, he immediately locked the door, before heading to the bathroom, stripping off his jacket and shirt on the way there. He hissed with pain as the scabbing blood that had stuck to the fabric of his shirt tore from his wounds, reopening them, and he felt fresh blood begin trickling down to join the old. He ignored it as he went over to start up a hot shower, afterward stripping down the rest of the way before he got in.

The water stung when it hit the lesions on his back, so bad it was hard to just stand there and let it continue. His eyes shut tight and he gritted his teeth hard, trying to ignore it, telling himself it didn’t hurt in hopes of that somehow becoming true. The pain was so bad he suddenly wanted to lash out, punch the wall, do something to alleviate the frustration and agony. Instead he pressed his hand against the shower wall to brace himself, hanging his head as he allowed the water to continue rinsing the blood away until the pain finally became a dull afterthought.

He couldn’t wait for this week to be over, and it hadn’t even started yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small taste of John/Hoffman smut in this chapter. That's all, really. ;p

For nearly a week, Hoffman couldn’t lean his back against anything because of how badly it hurt, but soon the wounds had begun to heal, leaving behind deep red scar tissue where the worst ones used to be. Tensions seemed to be growing every day that Mark came by Jigsaw’s little workshop, and it was hard to discern just what kind of tension it was. Hoffman had started compromising sleep just so that he could be there more often, and it didn’t take long for him to realize what was going on between the three of them.

He and Amanda were fighting viciously for John’s affections every time they saw each other, and they’d stopped even attempting to hide it from the man because it was practically impossible now anyway. They snapped at each other every chance they got, but currently Mark was in the lead because once again he’d been chosen to be the primary designer for their latest trap. John trusted him more than he did Amanda, and Mark absolutely loved it.

They were working late one night when Amanda chose to go to bed early, leaving both John and Mark alone in the designated planning room that was lit only by one lamp that was focused upon a pile of concept blueprints. They were currently planning something involving a rather large bathroom that existed in the lower parts of this building, and honestly, Hoffman had kind of stopped paying attention once Amanda had left. It was the first time in a long time he and John had been able to be alone together, and apparently, John noticed too.

The other man suddenly stood up, and Mark who was already standing and leaning with his hands against the table looked a little startled because of it. They’d been in the middle of a conversation involving the test they were designing, but it was obvious John wanted to talk about something else when he came up behind Mark and hooked his fingers underneath his shirt.

“John,” Mark said, obviously startled as he immediately turned himself around to stop what the other man was doing.

They came face to face, and the proximity was enough to have Mark’s heart rate go up a couple notches.

“I want to see how you’ve been healing, Mark,” John told him quietly, “If that’s alright.”

Hesitantly, Hoffman turned back around and placed one hand on the table, silently giving his consent, though a part of him didn’t want to. He felt ashamed that he even had the wounds to begin with, and he’d been so steadfast in hiding them it felt weird to let someone see, even if it was John.

John once again went to work lifting Mark’s shirt up, pulling it far enough so that his entire back was revealed. He saw the red scars and some scabs that hadn’t healed over yet, and he felt a sharp pang of sympathy pain at the sight. It hadn’t showed, but he’d been wondering how Mark had been doing ever since that night, and now he was kind of glad he hadn’t looked sooner than now. He had the powerful urge to apologize, but he suppressed it.

“They’re healing up nicely,” He said, gently running his fingers over one of the fresh scars, “Do they hurt still?”

Mark twitched when he felt that feather light touch, and he was surprised how good it felt when John trailed his fingertips down his back.

“No,” He answered softly, leaning a little bit into the touch.

John noticed the small movement, and so he didn’t stop, trailing his fingertips slowly up the other man’s spine.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered as he was running his fingers back down.

Mark couldn’t help but feel like that question was incredibly suggestive; something in the way John had said it sparked something inside of him that he hadn’t known existed.

“Yes…” he answered after a second of hesitation.

After a moment, John finally stopped. He let go of Mark’s shirt, before grabbing his shoulder and gently turning him around. They looked at each other, and instantly something was realized, something that had existed in the background between them for an indefinite amount of time. Mark’s first instinct was to resist, and he pressed himself harder against the table that was already too close behind him. John advanced, placing his hands near Hoffman’s on the table so that their bodies were pressed together.

“John,” Mark whispered with a little tinge of fear in his voice.

“Quiet,” John demanded in a whisper.

And the next thing Hoffman knew, their mouths were pressed together in a surprisingly gentle kiss, and he felt John’s hand touch his shoulder, before moving to the side of his face. Mark made a soft sound in the back of his throat; one that not even he was sure was of enjoyment or distress. He lifted one hand, but after realizing he had no clue what to do with it, he put it back down on the table. His mind was reeling as John deepened the kiss, and Mark parted his lips willingly, allowing the other man’s tongue to enter his mouth and slide against his own. The feeling caused him to make another soft sound, and his hands tensed against the table.

Shortly after that, John broke the kiss to begin trailing smaller ones down Mark’s jaw line, to the side of his neck. Hoffman let out a short grunt of surprise and pleasure when John started sucking on the side of his neck, shocked by how good it felt. Finally his hand knew what to do with itself, as he placed it against John’s shoulder in a weak gesture of resistance.

“John, you have to stop,” Mark pleaded breathlessly.

He caught his breath when he felt John’s fingers in his hair, gripping just hard enough for it to be threatening, but not painful.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want this, Mark…” John whispered, “If you want me to stop… stop me…”

Mark stifled a moan when John resumed sucking on his neck, the sound coming out pained. John was right. He wanted this, he desperately did, and he hadn’t even known it until now. It could have just been his need for his mentor’s attention and approval being twisted in his mind that made him think he desired even _this_ kind of attention, but he wasn’t about to question any of it right now.

He felt the other man’s hand leave his hair, just before both of his hands began sliding down his torso, feeling him. Mark tilted his head back as John continued what he was doing. Mark didn’t even care anymore if a hickey would be left for him to struggle to get rid of before he had to go into the office again tomorrow, he couldn’t think enough to care. He moaned John’s name as the other man slid his hands under his shirt, spreading his fingers out as he felt his body.

Even as John continued to accost his apprentice, he couldn’t quite place why he was doing it, why he felt the need for this kind of contact with the other man. Already it had become a mindless desperation; a blind lust that he hadn’t allowed himself to succumb to for years, and a very big part of him was enjoying it far, far too much than what should have been allowed. Every little sound of pleasure Mark made for him was music to his ears, and everything he did to the younger man was an attempt to coax out more of those sounds. That’s when he felt Mark shift against him, and he noticed a very distinct hardness pressed against his thigh.

Immediately he pulled back just enough to let his hands drop to Mark’s belt, where he began unhooking it without any sort of hesitation. Mark’s hand dropped to touch his arm, as if he wanted to stop him, but again he couldn’t quite seem to make the full effort. John didn’t take any heed, as he quickly finished what he was doing only to move on to unbuttoning the younger man’s pants, and he didn’t even bother with the zipper before he slipped his hand inside.

“John!” Mark suddenly cried out, his whole body going taut.

John didn’t stop anything he was doing, as his hand found its way into Mark’s boxers and he pressed it against the other man’s erection, intensely aroused by how hot it felt against his palm. He felt Hoffman’s body jerk, and he felt him instinctively press forward, as if silently begging for it. John gripped the younger man’s erection and very slowly began to stroke, from base to tip, and every choked moan that Mark failed to keep back sent a shiver of arousal down his spine.

Unable to stop himself, Hoffman was lightly bucking into John’s hand even as the man continued to stroke him at that slow, teasing pace. He was gripping onto the heavy fabric of that black and red coat John was wearing as if his life depended on it, and their heads were now practically side by side so that he could hear the other man’s slightly heavy breathing right against his ear, and he was sure every little sound he himself made was heard twice as well.

John focused his attentions near the tip, traveling at an even pace from the head to the middle and back again. He did this over and over, his pace quick, until he felt Mark tensing harder against his own body, and heard the younger man’s breathing become even more labored.

“John… I can’t…” Hoffman gasped suddenly, “I’m going to come…”

Ever so slightly John increased the pace, wanting nothing more than for Mark to reach that peak. That was encouragement enough, apparently, because barely three seconds passed before the younger man jerked suddenly against him, and he felt Mark’s erection begin pulsing hard in his hand. It was only then that Hoffman simply couldn’t impede his own cries of pleasure anymore, the sound of his orgasmic moans and ragged breathing coming out loud and clear.

“That’s it, Mark…” John whispered, using his free arm to gently embrace the other man.

Hoffman continued to hold on to John, his teeth gritted hard as every powerful pulse caused his entire body to jerk, and forced him to shallowly buck forward into the other man’s hand in reflex as the pleasure tore through his system in waves. It would be a good five seconds before he was finally able to relax in John’s half-embrace, panting heavily, his mind foggy and his body tired.

Slowly, John withdrew his hand, moving back a bit so that he could look at the thick, white fluid smeared over his palm. He knew quite a bit had escaped his grip, however, and he couldn’t help but wonder due to the sheer volume of it how long it had been since the last time Mark had gotten off. The younger man slowly let go of his coat in favor of leaning back against the table again, and John immediately moved to grab a few tissues from the box at the corner of the table.

Mark watched dazedly as John wiped off his hand, for a moment at a complete loss for what to say or what to do. What had just happened between them was so sudden, so unexpected that he had no clue how to even react. Did this change anything between them, and if so, what did it change?

John threw away the used tissues, dropping them into the waste basket that was located under the table and also right beside them. He looked at Mark, seeing the younger man’s uncertain gaze, and he had the sudden urge to comfort him. With no reason not to, he brought a hand up to gently stroke the side of his face, before he placed a little kiss on his forehead; not too hard of a feat with how low Mark was slouching at the moment.

“Go home and get some sleep,” John whispered, “I’ll see you next week.”

Mark looked up at him with wide, credulous eyes, but chose not to say anything before John turned to leave him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vague descriptions of more John/Hoffman smut at the beginning of this one.

A little over a month had passed in planning, and the test was finally in progress. It was a complicated one, since technically it was two connected tests for about five different people. Hoffman had no problem staying behind the scenes at this point, even allowing Amanda to be the only person to escort John down to the testing area when it was time for him to play dead, as it were.

Ever since that night about a month ago Mark and John’s relationship had taken an interesting turn. For a little while, Mark didn’t know whether to feel awkward or to feel the need for more intimacy, since he initially felt both and was understandably confused. It was about three days after their first moment that another took place, and it was actually Mark who initiated that one.

They had been busy setting up the first parts of the test in the bathroom when it had happened. John had come up behind him to show him the correct way to wire the electricity through the pipes, and the moment Mark felt the other man’s body press against his, he pretty much lost it.

He remembered the conflicted look on John’s face, the way he almost tried to resist but didn’t. They both knew their relationship wasn’t supposed to be like this, and yet, once it had been started there was simply no stopping it.

Mark had paid John back that night, and he still couldn’t believe himself, how he’d gotten down on his knees after pressing John against the wall, how he’d practically begged to have the other man fuck his mouth. It was the first time he’d ever really had sex with another man, and at that point in time he was pretty sure John would be the only one.

Mark was straight, after all; he enjoyed women too much to even think of retracting that statement, and he was pretty sure John was too. That was really the only confusing part about all this. Their attraction didn’t make sense at all in Mark’s mind, and yet it was very much there.

Currently he was trying not to think about it as he studied the information on the next subjects that were to be tested after the current ones were through; there was no time for breaks in this line of work. Not to mention he liked to keep his mind occupied with productive things at all times. He already had a few ideas.

Suddenly he heard footsteps, and he looked up from the papers to watch Amanda enter the room. The way she carried herself made him wonder, even just a couple movements were enough for him to judge how she was feeling; strangely accomplished, yet hurried, like she was guilty about something.

She paused to look at him, and he saw her defenses go up even as she went over to him to see what he was doing. The fact that he disliked her presence only made her gravitate toward him more he’d noticed, like it was her own personal way of attacking him. She was aggressive, and as much as he hated to admit it, deep down he actually liked that quality about her.

He spoke first.

“Everything go alright?”

“So far, yes,” She replied, “I’m going to go watch the monitors.”

He didn’t like that look she gave him just before she left; going to the open back room that currently housed said monitors. He wanted to go in there as well, only to see for himself and to sate any fears he had for John, who was supposed to be currently lying in a pool of poisoned ‘blood’ between their first two subjects.

Mark only hesitated for about a minute before he finally moved to follow after Amanda, and he found her sitting in one of two computer chairs, leaning against the table with her chin resting on one hand as she stared at one of the screens. He moved to stand beside her behind the second chair to look at the same screen, which had a perfect downward view of the testing area. Everyone was still out; the guy near the door, a doctor by the name of Lawrence, the one in the bathtub, a photographer or rather, spy by the name of Adam, and of course John who was lying absolutely lifeless in the middle of the room.

Mark glanced at the wall on the screen, the very same wall where he had John pinned nearly a month prior. He had to stop the flood of memories lest he become aroused; this most certainly wasn’t the right time for that. He looked over at Amanda and saw that she was already looking up at him, as if he’d sensed her eyes on him beforehand.

“Are you that opposed to sitting next to me, Hoffman?” she asked with that same mischievous look.

He didn’t answer at first, turning his gaze back toward the screens.

“I prefer to stand.”

Amanda just looked at him for a moment, hating how good he was at hiding all emotion except for those he wanted her to see. Right now, he was totally unreadable; not even the usual hatred or annoyance was present. It had been like that for a few days now, and honestly she was kind of missing how he used to snap at her, call her names, and just generally be a total asshole to her. This quiet dislike was just … boring.

She was glad she’d at least done a couple things that were going to make the game they were going to watch a bit more interesting; namely, the key she was supposed to tie around Adam’s neck wasn’t tied, and she’d done the honors of tying the chain on the bathtub stopper to him instead so that he’d unplug the drain the moment he awoke. It wasn’t much, but they were definitely things to feel a little bit naughty about. It was a little act of rebellion, and she felt comforted by telling herself how little and unnoticeable it was; not like what Mark had done, not at all, though secretly she wished she’d get the special treatment from John, too.

Mark noticed the subjects were beginning to stir, and finally, he grabbed the chair he was leaning over to sit down on. He ignored the look Amanda gave him, and it wasn’t long before they both were staring at the screens intently.

The game had begun, and it was time to watch.


	5. Chapter 5

John’s condition was growing worse and worse by the week; it was now a considerable strain for him to even walk any distance, let alone help kidnap people or do much manual work creating traps. Mark didn’t mind, he was perfectly capable of doing it by himself, or occasionally with Amanda’s help. It was amazing how quickly one got in shape dragging around heavy equipment and unconscious bodies for a few months.

Mark was walking in front of John down the hallway of the house they’d just finished setting up their latest test in, but he slowed his steps every once in a while even stopping to wait for him, constantly ready to help if it was needed, but it never was. John was too proud to show his suffering or ask for help, which only made the decline in his health even harder to watch.

Currently Amanda was in the first room, knocked out along with the rest of the subjects. Apparently she was going to be a sort of arbitrator for this one, judging by what John had said when Mark asked why she needed to be there. He was just happy to have some alone time with John again.

They left the house together to drive back to their latest hideout, just one of many, where the test was being recorded for later. Mark had to help John the last bit of the way up the stairs, and he even helped him over to his chair in the room with the monitors. It was more of a tiny connected area to the rest of a much larger room.

“Do you need anything?” Mark asked quietly afterward.

John was quiet for a minute, “Some water would be nice, thank you…”

Without saying anything more, Hoffman left the room and came back with a cup full of water, complete with a bendy-straw. John accepted it, staring for a moment at the straw before deciding to drink from it.

It was quiet for a moment, a rather tense silence, as they both watched the monitors. There was a worried look on Hoffman’s face, like he wanted to say something. It would be a minute before he finally did.

“What if Matthews fails?”

“I can’t answer that, Mark,” John replied tiredly, setting the cup on the table before him.

He was quiet again for a second.

“I don’t like the idea of you using yourself as bait,” He spoke again, “He strikes me as the type to get violent, John, I’d much rather it be me-”

“I’ve given you protection from the law and I’m not going to let you compromise that,” John interrupted.

Mark was quiet again, but this time he couldn’t think of anything to say to that, there really was nothing he _could_ say. If he was going to be the lasting successor, he had to keep this life a secret. He would be ruined in every way possible if the cops found out he was assisting the Jigsaw killer, and he would no longer be able to continue the legacy like he so fully planned on doing. He looked down, feeling hopeless.

“No matter what happens, you will follow through with what I have planned, won’t you?” John asked suddenly.

Mark looked back up, “Yes, always,” he stated firmly.

“Remember, emotion cannot be involved.”

“I know,” He whispered, “But I’m...” He cut himself off.

There was a short silence as John awaited the rest of that sentence.

“Yes, Mark?” he finally spoke up.

“I’m worried … about you,” The younger man admitted.

Slowly, John turned on the office chair he was sitting in, and he looked up at Mark. The younger man looked right back at him, knowing John could see right through him, and he didn’t care. The more he watched John’s well-being fade, the more he felt the reins on his self control slipping from his grasp. He knew it was going to happen eventually. The man had brain cancer, after all; no one lived through that, and yet Mark found it increasingly difficult to come to terms with it.

“Come here,” John told him softly.

Hoffman went over to kneel before him, a submissive, respectful pose he would have never taken for anyone else. He was slightly surprised when John reached out and gently touched him, running his hand over his hair like he was stroking a loyal pet. The touch comforted him, but as he looked up at the other man he felt a sharp pang of sadness in his heart. Mark realized that this was probably going to be the last time he saw John alive; Matthews could go right ahead and shoot him if he got angry enough, and with how the legal system worked, he’d probably be praised for it.

“There’s something I need to say,” Mark said, averting his eyes.

“Go ahead,” John encouraged, continuing to pet him.

“I can’t feel anything anymore, John,” Hoffman began in a rush, “I can’t feel anything for anyone except hatred; I don’t even like my friends anymore. I’ve been completely alone ever since I agreed to help you, and … and you’re the only thing I can even bring myself to care about now; not family, not work, not any-fucking-body else.”

He had to stop or he was going to have a complete breakdown, crying and the works, and he bit his tongue hard to keep from doing just that. The fact John simply carried on petting him seemed to make it harder to hold back all the emotion he’d kept walled up until now; the cracks were showing through, stark and abysmal, and they were growing deeper. He only tilted his head up when John encouraged him to with a finger under his chin, and he forced himself to look the other man in the eyes.

“I trust you,” John said sincerely, nothing in his tone betraying how surprised he was to hear Mark confessing all this.

No matter how many intimate moments they’d shared, he never guessed the man felt so strongly about him. It crushed him to know that there was simply no way to tell Mark that ‘everything was going to be alright’, because they both knew that was a blatant lie.

“And I care about you too,” He continued, “But you can’t give up everything for me; we both know that the outcome will only be the same in the end.”

Mark wanted to scream and to cry, to pitch a fit like a little child, knowing there was nothing he could actually do; there was simply nothing to fight for. Gently he placed his hands on John’s lap, lightly gripping the fabric of his black and red coat while he tilted his head downward as he fought back tears with everything in him. Having successfully held them back, he looked up at John once more.

The older man guided him closer before kissing him softly on the forehead, sliding his fingers slowly through his hair. Mark closed his eyes, accepting the gentle contact, and he accidentally pushed a tear from the corner of his eye when he did so, the warm drop sliding down his cheek to rapidly cool in the cold air of this place. He didn’t seem to take notice, and when John pulled back Mark was up and kissing him on the lips before he could even think to stop himself. It wasn’t harsh or even particularly lustful, just desperate, desperate for something.

John placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, closing his eyes, but otherwise doing nothing to reciprocate. He felt Mark’s hands on him, gently feeling down his chest, more careful and slow than he’d ever felt the other man’s touch. Mark felt along his body just like this, sliding his hands underneath John’s coat and hooking his thumbs under the older man’s shirt. He lifted it slightly, and used his other hand to slide underneath. After that, his free hand then moved to grip the arm of the chair to support his own weight.

The kiss was broken by then, Mark instead having gone to pressing his face into the side of the other man’s neck. Mark could feel how much thinner John had gotten during the past couple weeks, and it was alarming enough to reignite his fears and his desperation. He began kissing the older man’s neck, sliding his hand up to his chest.

“Mark,” John said, sounding a little out of breath, “Stop.”

Immediately, Hoffman halted what he’d been doing, and he moved back to look at John.

“We can’t, right now…” The older man whispered to him.

Mark tried not to feel as terrible as he did right then, but he felt absolutely crushed; not because he felt like he’d just been shot down, but because he felt like he’d just made another stupid mistake. He backed off immediately.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered as he stepped back and turned his attention where it should have been; toward the monitors.

Everyone was awake and running around, but he found it hard to care right now.

“It’s alright, Mark,” John told him quietly, before turning his attention to the same thing.

A long time passed in silence as they watched, until finally, everything came to its conclusion and there was barely an hour left before Eric Matthew’s test began.

“It’s time for you to go,” John told Mark.

Hoffman stood in silence for a long moment, his hands closing into fists for a second. He gave a little nod, but John didn’t see it.

“Goodbye, John…” He whispered, before leaving the room


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark/Amanda time. Pretty non-cony spanking, groping, and restraining, but no rape.

Amanda noticed the way Mark was behaving these days, no longer aloof toward her, and increasingly aggressive. The way he behaved was frightening sometimes; the way he looked at her, she could practically visualize the terrible things he wanted to do to her. It wasn’t like she didn’t do her share of things to get those responses out of him, however; for some reason she just loved saying and doing things to piss him off just so that she could see that little flash of subdued rage behind his admittedly pretty blue eyes.

Honestly, teasing Mark had become one of her favorite past-times. When she felt terrible, which was often, he was one of the people she’d go to for the sole purpose of a distraction, no matter how unpleasant. He would never touch her and she knew it; he cared too much about John, about what the man would think. His devotion even seemed a little obsessive sometimes, though he spent more time working on various traps than taking care of the man, unlike Amanda.

John’s deteriorating physical condition broke her heart; he wasn’t even able to walk by himself anymore. She’d had a major breakdown recently, partially because of that, and she’d even lost control and cut herself. It wasn’t the last time, either; it was the least she could do to lessen the pain inside.

She’d been trying to design her own traps for some time now, and only recently had she finally come up with a couple designs that John agreed with. Mark only agreed to help her with them because he was basically just filling in for John, adjusting some things where she’d overlooked the flaws. Apparently Mark wasn’t bright enough to catch the biggest flaw of all; the fact there was no possible way to escape.

It wasn’t simply that she didn’t believe those people deserved a chance; it was more about the fact that when she watched people get split apart by her own creations, the pleasure she felt was incredible. She deliberately hid the design aspect that made escape impossible in her second trap from John just so that he would give it the okay. It wasn’t like it made a difference anyway; the media would always view them as ‘the Jigsaw _killer_ ’ regardless, and a couple little inescapable traps weren’t going to destroy their image.

She was there in person to watch her second trap in action, cloaked and hiding in shadows even though she was behind her subject and thus hidden. She could hardly breathe as she watched the woman struggle, heard her scream in pain, and for a second it hardly registered what had happened when the trap finally sprang. It was the most beautiful thing Amanda had ever seen; blood splattering the walls as her subject’s rib cage was torn asunder and flung upward by the contraption’s arms. It took her a minute before she could breathe again, and she stepped closer to get a better look at the damage. Slowly she walked around to look at the woman’s front, and she was surprised to see every organ exposed, the flesh having been torn from her body in huge ragged strips by the force of the machine’s brutality.

Amanda stared for a moment, truly impressed by her own handiwork, before she finally turned to leave. She let out a little yelp of surprise when she noticed Mark, leaning against the wall in the darkness not too far back from where she herself had been standing to watch the show. She suddenly felt like a victim of voyeurism, for some strange reason, and immediately grew defensive.

“How long have you been standing there?”

He continued to stare, and she felt oddly naked under those piercing blue eyes.

“I never left,” He responded simply.

He moved away from the wall then to walk over and investigate the trap, looking at it as if he was already on the job, prepared to collect (or rather hide) evidence when he found it. For some reason, Amanda found this incredibly annoying. Exasperated, but figuring she had more important things to do, she simply rolled her eyes before leaving.

Mark turned his head and watched her go, an unreadable expression on his face.

Amanda was walking down the dark hallway toward the main workshop, when she was grabbed and roughly turned around, and she looked up with growing indignation at Mark who was currently standing close enough for her to really grasp just how much he towered over her.

“What the hell?” she snapped, but he interrupted her.

“You must think I’m real fuckin’ stupid,” He said, and that was the first time she ever heard real rage in his voice, “Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?”

Amanda took a step back, “Honestly… yes,” She replied, a little too surprised to formulate a good comeback at first, “Why the hell do you care? You were doing the same thing, and still would be if John didn’t give you a spanking for it.”

Hoffman would never let her know just how accurate that last statement was, and for a second he faltered, wondering if she knew. No, John wouldn’t do that to him, he quickly reassured himself.

“Is that what you need, Amanda?” he suddenly growled, “You need someone to give you a good spanking?”

Amanda let out a short laugh at that, thinking there was no possible way he was serious.

“You couldn’t touch me even if you wanted to.”

She turned around, prepared to walk out of the room and away from this confrontation. She was totally confident that he wouldn’t try anything. They’d had intense arguments and fights that bordered on becoming physical in the past that she’d easily walked away from unharmed, this would be no exception.

She barely made it one step before she was suddenly grabbed and pulled violently sideways. The sound of things falling onto the concrete floor was heard as they both collided with a nearby cluttered table. The shock of Mark attacking her like this wasn’t enough to keep Amanda from fighting, and she immediately twisted in his grasp, quickly discovering that her only option was to kick; and kick she did. She lashed out, one of her legs skimming against his as he pressed against her to make it impossible for her to get a good hit in.

Immediately after that, Mark finally managed to grab her arms and pin them behind her back, while at the same time he turned her around and forced her to bend over the table, pushing her down onto it with one hand. He remained pressed right up against her while he held her there, and already her wrists and shoulders were starting to ache from how hard his grip was as she began to thrash. She felt totally humiliated that he was able to hold her down so easily, his sudden, total power over her was palpable.

“Let me go!” she screamed, “You fucking bastard!”

The surface of the table was cold and hard against her heated cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she gave one more vicious bout of thrashing that very nearly made him lose his grip on her, but not quite. Her shoes squeaked against the floor as she tried to break free, and he suddenly slammed her hard against the table one last time, knocking the breath from her and thus halting her fight for a few seconds.

“Keep it up, you little bitch; keep giving me reasons to hurt you,” He snarled in the most sinister voice she’d ever heard.

She let out a sharp cry when he suddenly twisted the hand holding on to her wrists, the texture of his leather glove sticking to her flesh and making the movement twice as painful as it would have been had it just been his skin. It felt like he was giving her an Indian rug burn, but with one hand.

“You son of a bitch,” She gasped, “Get the fuck off me!”

She began thrashing again, kicking and writhing, not even caring about the pain anymore. Her fear had risen to levels that had adrenaline pumping through her veins, dulling all feeling; she wasn’t going to let him do this to her. He leaned over her as he used more of his body weight to keep her pinned, and she felt the table edge digging into the tops of her thighs in a way she was sure was going to leave bruises.

During a brief lapse in her fighting, Hoffman suddenly went to work doing his best to tear that cloak she was wearing off of her, which in turn required him to release her arms. She tried to tear free during this moment, but surprisingly enough he managed to pull it off her shoulders while still holding her captive, and gravity did most of the work as it slid down her body to pool on the floor beneath them. Before it even hit the floor, Mark already had her bent over the table again.

She found it hard to breathe when he leaned on her, his arm pressing into her back while his other hand went to work undoing his own belt, as she heard when she noticed that telltale clink of metal after he was finished. She was wearing a rather short skirt, as well as a black tank top; it was severely revealing clothing she now regretted ever even considering wearing today.

At this point, Amanda had fallen into a stupor of terror and disbelief; she honestly couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. He’d finally snapped. He’d gone completely fucking crazy, and at that moment she regretted every insult she ever spat in his face, every time she ever walked away after a well thought out quip just for him. She hardly noticed he was tying his own belt around her wrists until he was finished doing it, pulling it so tight that her hands suddenly felt like all circulation had been severed at once. He wrapped it a couple times, making it so that it wouldn’t be at all easy to slip out of.

The next moment, she felt him grab the hem of her skirt and hike it up, up past her waist so that her entire rear was exposed. She didn’t remember what color underwear she’d put on today, but she was sure he knew now. That didn’t give her nearly the same amount of distress as the realization of the fact that he could probably clearly see her scars, and her new cuts, that lined her inner thighs. She squeezed her legs together to at least hide that amount of shame from his prying eyes. Her own eyes shut tightly, and she felt a tear drop down to collect on the surface of the table her cheek was again pressed against.

“Hoffman,” She tried to plea, beyond fighting anymore, “Mark, please don’t do this to me.”

He didn’t respond, and that alone scared her. She soon felt his hand against her ass, rubbing gently, before he roughly gripped one cheek hard enough for it to almost be painful, and she bit her lip hard to stop from making a single sound. He stopped only to hook his fingers under the hem of her underwear, and to drag them down, revealing her ass completely. She really wasn’t expecting it when he suddenly hit her, giving her a firm smack right on her left cheek. A sharp, burning pain followed the resounding _‘smack’_ that echoed inside this dark, hollow room, impossibly loud in her own ears.

She was so taken aback that she couldn’t keep back a cry of shock and pain when he hit her again, and again, not putting any reserves on his own strength which was obvious in the way her body jerked against the table with every blow. She began to squirm, even as he continued to hit her, feeling suddenly more indignant and violated than afraid anymore; when she talked about spanking she didn’t mean it _literally!_

“Stop it, you fucking pervert!” she screamed at him, though she felt pathetic in the way her voice cracked, and how she practically punctuated that sentence with a little shout of pain after he heedlessly struck her once more.

He paused to give her abused ass another good squeeze.

“Don’t pretend like this isn’t what you wanted,” He growled.

“What the fuck makes you think-” She was cut off when he suddenly struck her, this time on her right cheek hard enough to get a scream out of her as the breath was forced from her lungs.

“Taunting me every day, trying to get a rise out of me- I’m surprised you aren’t begging me to fuck you right now,” He continued, more to himself than to her as he once again began caressing her ass, but she heard it.

She didn’t have time to formulate a proper comeback as he suddenly pulled his hand back and struck her again, beginning another long, painful, drawn-out series to make her right cheek just about as red and hot as her left one was. Her unhealed cuts were starting to sting as sweat got into them, adding to her discomfort, and she didn’t want to know if that hot moisture collecting inside her panties was her own sexual fluids or more sweat, but she feared it was the former.

“Mark!” she shouted pathetically, her eyes now watering with pain.

He didn’t stop, and soon his blows were beginning to lose aim. Sometimes he hit her in places, especially near the backs of her thighs, that hurt so badly that she couldn’t even begin to keep back her screams of pain.

It wasn’t until she was a trembling, panting mess that he finally stopped, and it was pretty abrupt when he did. He only gave her one last little grope, running his still gloved hand over her uncomfortably warm, abused flesh, squeezing it softly. She could hear the way he was breathing, hard and heavy, and for a second she feared he was finally going to do what she expected of him: rape her like the beast he was.

Instead, he started working on the belt wrapped around her wrists, undoing it after a moment before he pulled it free, all at the risk of her getting up and retaliating; which she didn’t do, of course, but she liked to believe it was still a possibility. She placed her hands on the table, closing her eyes tightly once more as the pain of them finally getting back circulation flowed through her.

“I’ll see you later,” He told her in a low voice, “I have things to do tomorrow.”

With that, he left the room, and she didn’t make a single move until she could no longer hear his footsteps.

 _“Fuck…”_ she whispered, her hands tensing against the table.

Her legs were trembling so bad she didn’t think she could stand, and so, she slid, slid down until her back was on the floor, and her hand was firmly between her legs. She covered her own mouth with her free hand while she began roughly, vigorously fingering herself, humping against her own hand with energy she didn’t even know she still had.

Even as she did this, she refused to admit to herself just how much he’d turned her on, just how much she’d enjoyed the feeling of his hand, touching her ass, hitting her with so much power it jarred her very senses. The heat of her abused flesh was almost comforting now, intensely arousing, like the feeling of her own body jerking with every harsh hit he landed on her.

It only took about five seconds before she came, and she didn’t even bother to muffle the cry that left her already raw throat when that happened. Her body tensed, arched off the floor, her thighs closing around her own hand in reflex as the pure rapture tore through her system, so much more intense after all the pain that had just been visited upon her.

Afterward she laid there for a long moment, catching her breath and trying to get up the energy to move. Her hatred for Mark had never been as intense as it was in that moment of afterglow, as if it was somehow his fault for making her like it. He didn’t have to know, he would _never_ know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda and Hoffman hatesex!

It was late, nearly twelve at night, and Mark was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go home, or rather, to the bar and get as drunk as possible before closing time, but of course that wasn’t going to happen. There was still work to be done; every night, there was always still work to be done.

Mark was a little startled when he heard his cellphone go off while he was driving, the sound shattering the relative silence he’d surrounded himself with. He fished it out of his pocket, and flipped it open and put it to his ear without looking to see who it was.

“Hello?” he said in his usual monotone.

“Are you coming or not?” responded a female voice, and it took him a moment for his confusion to fade and for him to realize it was Amanda.

“I’m on my way,” he replied in a slightly lower tone.

“Well hurry up, damn it.”

That was the last thing she said before the other line went dead, and Mark closed his phone and set it on the seat beside him. It was rare she ever called him, but then again, it was rare that he was ever this late.

It had been a week or so since their little encounter after they’d both watched her second test in progress, and he was having an easy enough time acting like nothing had even happened between them whenever they saw each other. In fact, he was more placid than he’d ever been when around her these days.

This only made things harder for Amanda.

She was stressed out, worried and on the verge of a breakdown every single night now. A new test involving her was coming up; she was going to have to kidnap a nurse, someone who was actually certified to help John. Amanda was forced to realize every day that he was going to die soon, despite whatever she did; bringing a nurse here was really their last hope. Almost every night now, she’d add a new, deep line to the assortment she had all along her inner thigh, sometimes reopening ones she’d already made. She couldn’t handle the pressure, the emotional turmoil, she never could.

And to make it all worse, there was Mark.

She’d never been so confused about a person, never hated someone so badly and yet wanted nothing more than to have them fuck her senseless. It was a deep desire that felt so familiar to her that it was hard to believe it ever didn’t exist in the first place.

She fucking hated him. She hated him worse than she’d ever hated anyone, and that’s what she told herself as she hung up the phone and headed back into her room. She’d just gotten done talking with John, and he’d been the one to tell her to call Mark, directly after having a vague talk with him about her chaotic feelings. She never told John about what happened between her and Mark, or what she actually felt for the man, and she never would, but somehow she almost thought John already knew anyway. The way he talked always made it seem like he could see right through her.

Amanda flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling blankly, her thoughts going to places she wished they wouldn’t, but that wasn’t anything new. Honestly, times like this, when around so many sharp objects every day it was a little hard not to just give in, grab one and run to her room with it. In fact, there was more than one occasion when she’d done exactly that. She decided abruptly this wouldn’t be one of those times.

About ten minutes or so had passed, and finally Mark had arrived, pulling in and stopping his car behind the building that was their hideout. For some time after he turned off the engine, he just sat there in the silence, the faint glow of a far away streetlight providing the only light in which to see anything by. All around was pitch blackness, the kind of shadows that most people would avoid for fear of what lurked within; Hoffman was more one of those people who gravitated toward the shadows for cover, using them as his own personal hunting ground on more than one occasion.

He never thought about it much anymore, now that the metamorphosis had fully taken place. The way he’d gone from being someone with the best intentions, someone who actually did work to help people and overall catch the bad guys, to someone who no longer valued the lives of others, someone who hardly flinched at being an accessory to the most horrific of murders. People didn’t just turn into monsters overnight; it had taken years for this to happen, a slow, painful process, and then John had come around to give him that final push.

He got out of the car and slammed the door shut, not bothering to lock the doors as he headed for the back entrance of the building. He unlocked the door to the building and shut it quietly behind himself as he entered. Afterward, he set his keys on the closest table to be retrieved later.

He immediately headed for the back room to check in with John, as he always did. He pushed aside the screen and walked into that small sectioned off room, which was now John’s permanent residence ever since his condition had become so bad that he could no longer walk at all let alone be too far away from some sort of life support.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Something came up,” Mark told him in a low voice as he approached the bed.

John just looked up at him, before finally taking that oxygen mask from his face to speak.

“You don’t have to apologize; the important thing is you’re here,” he said, sounding tired, “What is your progress so far?”

Mark watched as John replaced the clear mask over his mouth and nose as he awaited the response.

“I’ve finished with the preparations for Jeff’s tests; Rigg’s tests are ready as well,” Hoffman told him.

His voice was quiet and emotionless, but his eyes told a different story. He tried to keep his emotions down, not even hidden but suppressed, like putting a plug in a drain to keep anything from coming through, but no matter how hard he tried it didn’t work with John. It tore him apart to see his mentor like this, and no amount of preparing could have saved him from this feeling.

“Good,” John rasped, “Take Amanda with you to double check Jeff’s tests, after that, you can leave.”

Mark felt distinctly hurt hearing that; just because he’d messed up one time, Amanda was going to have to check his work as if she was somehow his superior? He gave a little nod, before turning to leave, hoping that John didn’t catch how bothered he was by the look on his face. He wasn’t about to protest; John was still the boss here, and besides, Amanda wasn’t going to be around much longer anyway.

She was currently sitting on a chair in front of her desk, contemplating a possible contraption for a test. She had pencil in hand and was taking a tiny break in the middle of sketching, trying to keep her mind off everything except this.

“Hey.”

Amanda nearly fell out of her chair with how startled she was, hearing that familiar baritone voice shattering the silence. She stood up, turning her back to the table, facing the doorway where Mark currently stood, staring at her with that familiar glare. She just fixed him with a rather steely gaze of her own.

“Oh, there you are,” she said unenthusiastically, turning back to her work.

“Get up,” Mark said, sounding rather irritated, “You have to double check some traps with me.”

Amanda sent him a suspicious look.

“John’s orders,” He explained.

She laughed a little in realization, “Oh, okay.”

She got up to follow him, and he left almost immediately, not even wanting to see the look she was giving him as he began leading the way. Wordlessly they headed deep into the building, into the intricate network of the various tests that were set up here. The first one they came to was the freezer. Mark opened the door, and awaited Amanda to enter first. She gave him a look, before she boldly strode inside. He followed close behind.

Everything went by smoothly and quickly until they came to the last room, where Mark had only recently finished work setting up John’s favorite trap idea; The Rack. This is where Amanda took her time, even turning on the large overhead lights as she went over to inspect it. Deliberately she slowly scrutinized every little detail, and Mark felt disturbed by how much her sudden mannerisms reminded him of John.

“Wow, Hoffman,” She said, “You managed to not fuck up this time, I’m surprised.”

Mark refused to acknowledge her teasing, totally impassive as he usually was. All he had to do to quell his anger toward her was remember what had happened between them not too long ago, and how she’d screamed and begged for him to stop, powerless against him. He didn’t want to admit how much the whole ordeal had aroused him, and how even the thought was enough to send a little tingle of arousal down his spine. He didn’t care if she noticed that look he gave her as he remembered.

“Then again, we still have yet to see it in action,” Amanda went on as she inspected the side of the contraption.

“Want to test it?” Mark asked.

She turned to lean against the side of the machine with her arms crossed, fixing him in her gaze, “Only if you’re willing to go all the way back to the workshop to try to find a dummy that’s still intact to drag all the way back here.”

“Or we could just use you,” Mark offered idly.

Amanda just gave an incredulous laugh. She walked up to him, never breaking eye contact.

“No,” She began, “I’m sure John would miss me a lot more than he’d miss you.”

A spark of rage ignited behind Mark’s eyes. He wouldn’t have been nearly as angry if they were having this conversation a couple months ago, and he hadn’t noticed how distant his and John’s relationship had become recently, even if it was entirely his own fault.

“Why do you think that?” he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Have you even talked to him lately, Mark? He tells me everything, I’m the closest thing to a friend he’s got, and you’re nothing but his brainless little workhorse.”

There was a short silence, which was broken only when Amanda gave a cold little chuckle, “It isn’t that hard to figure out, but I guess for you it is.”

“He wouldn’t like you so much if he knew what I know,” Mark suddenly spoke.

“And what do you know?” she asked boldly.

Anyone else would have probably been intimidated by her sheer will, anyone else but him. He suddenly lashed out, grabbing one of her wrists in a tight grip to pull her closer. She gasped and tried to wrench back, not even realizing where his other hand was until he pressed his thumb into her inner thigh, right against one of her fresh cuts. She screamed in agony and kicked, forcing him to let her go just in time to have her fall backward onto the hard concrete floor.

She got back up and glared at him murderously, seeing the satisfied little smirk on his face.

“Fuck you,” She snarled.

“What would John think?” Mark mused, totally ignoring her.

Just like that, all Amanda’s pent-up anger and frustration burst forth in one violent motion. She suddenly flew at him, and Mark wasn’t expecting to be hit so hard right in the jaw, a punch that actually had him staggering back a couple steps. She didn’t stop her assault, but that didn’t matter. He grabbed her and they both fell to the floor; it was the only way he could possibly restrain her.

She struggled hard, ferociously writhing beneath him, trying to push him off until he pinned her wrists down. Finally she stopped, panting hard as she stared up at him, seeing that he was breathing rather hard as well. Their eyes met, and Amanda was suddenly hit with an urge far different than what she’d been feeling just moments before. She didn’t bother to hide it, just what this position and the rush of adrenaline had her thinking. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her gaze drifted down to linger on his lips. She suddenly tore one of her hands free, and flung it to the back of his head before he could react, gripping his hair hard as she pulled him down into a vicious kiss.

A low grunt of either pain or surprise left him, she wasn’t sure, and she didn’t care. He loosened his hold on her other arm enough for her to slide that one free as well, where she immediately began feeling him, running her hand over his shoulder. The fabric of his coat was rough and not at all pleasant to the touch, but that did nothing to deter her.

Hoffman pulled back slightly to whisper her name, but she only leaned up and captured him in another kiss. All other thoughts had gone, and the only thing left was this newfound, intense and utterly illogical desire. She maneuvered herself beneath him that small rest of the way that allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist, and attempt to pull him down against herself.

She forced her tongue into his mouth, an action to which he didn’t protest, and the first thing she noticed was the coppery taste of blood. He slid his tongue against hers, his first real act of participation, and it was enough to have her moaning softly in the back of her throat. She needed more; she needed him to do _something_. She tried to pull him up against her with her legs again, writhing softly, needfully, beneath him.

He pulled back and broke the kiss once more, leaning down to whisper in her ear so that she couldn’t interrupt him again.

“What do you want, Amanda?” he hissed, sounding almost heated, “Tell me…”

“Bastard,” She spat, feeling her face heat up.

He didn’t seem to take any heed to her curse, as he moved down and bit her softly on the side of her neck. The sensation made her arch and her vision waver, and she wondered how he could have possibly known such a sensitive spot even existed when not even she did. She gasped in shocked pleasure when he began sucking, and the sound of her nails scraping against the fabric of his coat sounded loudly throughout the room as she raked her fingers over his shoulders, and down his arms.

“Mark,” She whispered desperately.

She finally managed to pull him down just enough so that she could start grinding against his body; the friction and the feeling of his mouth against her neck were more than enough to drive her wild, all her inhibitions rapidly dissolving to nothing. She was left gasping when he finally stopped, and she felt the warm black leather of his glove rub against her body as he lifted up her shirt, and she arched a little off the floor as the icy cold cement touched her searing hot skin.

Her chest was left exposed all except for her rather worn tan-colored bra, which she quickly moved to unhook herself since it had the clasp in the front instead of the back. She replaced her hands on his arms as he sat up a bit to look down at her, and without much hesitation he pushed the loose bit of fabric to the side with his hand. She looked up at him and she could see the lust in his eyes, it excited her to know that it was all for her.

She bit her lip when he grabbed her breast with that same hand, and began kneading it softly, trying to feel her as best he could through the desensitizing leather. He immediately decided to replace his hand with his mouth, leaning down to press his lips against the soft flesh of her breast. Slowly he worked his way down until he found her nipple, where he immediately flicked his tongue out across it, teasing it into hardness before sucking it into his mouth.

That high, sharp gasp she let out right then was more than satisfying, and the way she began to writhe as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop or continue delighted him. Right now he wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t caring about who he was doing this with or how far he was about to take it.

Amanda thought she was going to go insane if he kept teasing her like this.

“God damn it, Mark,” She hissed as if she was struggling to speak, “Just, fucking … _fuck me already_.”

He snapped out of his little trance when he heard that, and he pulled back to glance up at her. She looked flushed and disheveled in a way he’d never seen her before, but he hardly gave it an afterthought as he immediately shifted to begin undoing her pants. After he was finished, he finally lifted his hand to pull off his glove with his teeth, before he took it and set it aside.

“How about you beg for me?” he growled, before he shoved his now bare hand into her pants.

She cried out softly and tried to close her legs in reflex, but he wouldn’t allow that. He found her opening, incredibly slick and hot with her own arousal, and forced two fingers inside with one harsh jerk. He stared down at her face, watching her expression, almost one of pain. His eyes narrowed slightly; he was surprised by how tight she felt, how just two fingers fit so snugly inside. After so long having the feeling of touch dulled, every little detail and pulse was felt twice as intense. A sharp, almost painful spike of arousal surged through him at the sensation, and he had to bite back a groan.

“Fuck you,” Amanda responded to his demand, but she sounded breathless, hardly insulting.

He was far too aroused at this point to care about her impudence. He withdrew his hand and then set to work pulling her pants and underwear off roughly and unceremoniously. He didn’t bother with fully removing them; all he needed was to free one leg and she was fully exposed and ready for the taking. Positioning himself close between her legs once more, he quickly unfastened his own pants, pulling them down slightly with one hand while his other touched her. He slid his thumb over her slit, finding her opening once more before he pushed his thumb inside to find she was no less wet than she had been earlier.

Amanda writhed a bit in discomfort; the cement she was lying on felt like ice under her ass, uncomfortably cold, but that wasn’t nearly enough to persuade her to stop this.

“Mark,” She whined, frustrated with his continued teasing.

Within seconds he pulled his thumb out, and she finally got what she wanted. He positioned himself and with a couple thrusts penetrated her completely. She wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him to hold still, her head thrown back and her mouth open in a silent scream.

He was certainly a lot bigger than she had anticipated, or maybe it was just the fact it had been so long since she’d been with a man; and quite frankly, her ex hadn’t been very gifted in that department.

She clawed at his shoulders, her breathing coming out momentarily labored. She couldn’t hold him back for much longer, as she felt him start impatiently grinding against her, hearing his own ragged panting above her. She gasped softly at the hot waves of pleasure cascading through her system as his movements stimulated her in all the right ways, and finally she was persuaded to relax her hold on him.

He immediately took his chance, and began shallowly but roughly thrusting into her, causing her whole body to jerk every time his hips met hers. Amanda was torn between pleasure and pain, but she could do nothing but take it, her body tensing and her hands clutching at his arms hard as she tried to figure out if she wanted it to stop or continue.

“Oh God…” she gasped, unable to even catch her breath as she realized it was starting to feel good.

Her hands dropped to the floor as she braced herself, using her legs to attempt to press back against him and gain more of that friction she craved. Whether Mark noticed or not, he suddenly picked up the pace, fucking her with short powerful thrusts that had her mind reeling.

At this point, Mark didn’t care about her pleasure, seeking only his own end as he continued to mercilessly pound her. Already he felt uncomfortably hot underneath his jacket, and he could feel the sweat that had formed on his face, but that was all merely an afterthought.

He was surprised when after a minute or so of this Amanda suddenly tensed up beneath him, crying out for the first time as her legs tightened hard around his waist once more. Immediately he felt her begin to pulse, her already tight pussy suddenly squeezing him even harder. He held still, totally sheathed inside her as he felt her orgasm first hand, including the way she was suddenly gripping onto his shoulders as if her life depended on it. He groaned with pleasure, feeling himself beginning to tremble.

He continued only after she finally relaxed a little, going at a pace no slower than before, though his movements were slightly more erratic. Amanda didn’t know whether or not to tell him to stop, but she wouldn’t have to endure it for much longer. He suddenly came hard, moaning low on every exhale as he slowly thrust against her, riding out his orgasm.

Slowly coming down from his high, he looked down at her, seeing the tired, lustful look on her face. Momentarily, he leaned his head down against her shoulder and took a moment to catch his breath like that. He refused to let himself come to terms with what he’d just done, and he probably wouldn’t until tonight when he was trying to sleep; that’s when all his regrets liked to ambush him.

He got off of her and pulled up his pants, refastening them as he stood up. Amanda, on the other hand, was having trouble getting up the energy to move at all. Her legs felt like rubber. Mark was kind enough to retrieve her pants for her and hand them to her.

Neither of them said a thing, though they did exchange a few looks before Mark left the room.

As Amanda set to work pathetically reclothing herself, all she could think was _‘fuck.’_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead. :(
> 
> I had plans to continue this, but unfortunately, those plans are lost with time.

Mark did not know those were going to be his final words to John, when he left that makeshift hospital room through the secret door in the wall. He tried to listen to what was being said through the thin wall, as he hung the tape recorder John had given him earlier from a pipe on the ceiling in here, near the door. He didn’t know what was on the tape, but he knew who it was for. After that, he left once more, to continue setting up the tests for the five people John had told him of via that folder.

He didn’t allow himself to think, only to work. Every day he wouldn’t allow himself a single break, and every night he hardly slept; only when he was literally ready to drop did he finally get any rest. More than one of his coworkers noticed the change, but he took their concern with subdued scorn; exhausted and with the eminent death of the last person he cared about weighing heavily on his mind, he didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone he didn’t absolutely have to. During this time, the last of his remaining friends were alienated to the point of leaving him alone permanently.

When that fateful night finally came, Mark only knew because of the report of the gun when it was fired in that tiny room, the unmistakable sound reverberating throughout the building. How strange, that it happened so perfectly in time with the end of his own test; after leaving his subject behind, he himself uncomfortably soaked from head to toe, headed back toward the workshop only to hear that sound. He felt no joy knowing Amanda had failed her test because of him.

It always felt so surreal when things went exactly as predicted against all odds. Mark didn’t have to look to know John had been murdered, he knew exactly where to hide, as he watched Agent Strahm enter the building and, like a rat in a maze, head right to where he wanted him to go. Hoffman didn’t think twice as he followed a few paces behind Strahm and promptly got to watch the agent shoot dead their grief-crazed test subject. Mark shut and locked that heavy metal door behind Strahm before he himself could get a good look at the carnage inside that room.

He felt like he was in a dream, some sort of nightmare, and he couldn’t think, he could only do as he was told, what John had instructed him to do before any of this happened. As he was walking away to wait for Strahm to head further into the maze, he heard the man attempt to kick the door down, and silently hoped he broke his foot in the process.

Mark headed into the back room to slip on his cloak and mask, grabbing a syringe and filling it with some powerful sedative before moving to wait at the end of the hallway behind the secret door which was Strahm’s eminent destination. He heard the man enter the hallway, heard him play the tape, before sending a final ‘fuck you’ probably in John’s direction. Mark felt a sudden spike of rage at that, and he gripped the syringe he was holding tighter.

He listened as Strahm came closer, and closer, until finally he was right beside him. Mark quickly stepped out of his hiding place and grabbed the other man, slamming him against the wall and stabbing him in the neck with the syringe the next instant, just like he’d done countless times before to other people. Strahm struggled briefly, trying if anything to grab onto his mysterious attacker, all the while cursing him and threatening him, those words coming out increasingly drunken until he finally collapsed. Mark held on to him, and began dragging him back toward the simple, yet effective trap that Hoffman was certain would end his life. There was no built-in escape mechanism, but Mark didn’t find fault in that; in his mind, Strahm had failed his test by not heeding John’s words, and thus all that was left was for him to die.

After strapping him in, Mark left the room, taking off his mask and leaving it on a nearby table, as well as his cloak. It was much too hot in here for that kind of dress, and the fact that he was wet all over really didn’t help his level of discomfort. He hesitated when he came to the beginning of the secret hallway; for some reason the thought of the possibility of John still being alive came to him. Deep down he knew it was impossible, but he didn’t listen to his voice of reason, he had to know.

Even he wasn’t prepared for the level of carnage inside that makeshift hospital room when he saw it; everyone was dead. Blood absolutely covered the floor and walls, the nurse near the back of the room had her head entirely blown to pieces, nothing but an unrecognizable lump of flesh remained there, up against the wall with the rest of her. Amanda lie on the floor, bled to death by a gunshot wound to the neck, and then, there was John.

It was pure cruel irony that John would have his throat slit, his blood spilled all over the bed and the floor to mix with the rest. Mark found himself frozen, unable to even move, as if his every thought had suddenly just been wiped clean out of his mind. He felt his legs go weak, and he finally looked away, and began drunkenly heading down the hallway, away from the scene and away from the very thing he’d been trying to tell himself was the inevitable.

He suddenly felt so profoundly alone, his final tie to the world severed; everyone he ever cared about was dead. He felt like a part of himself had died as well, he couldn’t even begin to cry. He took a moment to regain his bearings, before he headed back into the building to do one last thing: rescue Jeff’s daughter.

One could only imagine his surprise, when he later exited the building to find Strahm still alive, and being carted away in an ambulance. Amidst all his newfound apathy, he felt a pang of worry; that was probably going to cause some problems later on.


End file.
